Mammatus Clouds at Sunset

 

30 June 2024

I'd never seen mammatus clouds in real life until this evening.

They passed us over. We could have used the rain.

Slug Slog

 

Wertsville Road at Lindbergh Road

photo by Glen Fitzgerald

30 June 2024

Summer is what, a week old, and we're stuck inside again. At least we got a break yesterday.

The rain that was earlier forecast for Saturday held off long enough for us to get a morning ride in. I'd plotted an inland route from Pennington, never getting far from the start, in case the weather turned. A hadful of other rides were going out on Saturday too. My signups reached 7 then dropped to 4 by ride time. 

"Your rides are intimidating," Heddy had told me last Wednesday. I suppose that's true, considering we've been climbing Mine Road in on the regular. On the other hand, everyone knows I lead from the back, and there are a lot of C+ folks in the club who tackle far worse every weekend. 

So it shouldn't have surprised me that, when I rolled into the parking lot at 8:30 yesterday morning, everyone there was a B rider or better: Glen, Pete G, and Heddy. Tom, who is putting his hill legs back on after some time on the disabled list, was there to tag along until we turned onto Mine Road. "We might end up following you," I said.

Last week, I made the mistake of approximately mapping our hilly Nova Scotia day. Ridewithgps reported some 15-16% climbs. Ridewithgps always underestimates. I alerted the gang, and two things happened: people reacted with gallows humor; and I stopped worrying so much. There's nothing around here that can replicate those grades, accurate or not, and, given the weather, there's little chance I'll be able to lead a ride up in Warren County where we could attempt to better torture ourselves ahead of time. No, the torture would have to be down here. Whatever shape I'm in come mid-August, that's the shape I'll be in. I'm not going to risk hurting my back or my knees or whatever. If I have to walk my bike, so be it. I'll be on vacation. With my camera.

The first big climb was Mine Road. I decided to look at the hill screen on my GPS as I was climbing. My device reported 14% at the steepest. Ridewithgps gives it an 8.1% as mapped and reports 9.1% after the fact. In other words, percent grade is up for grabs. Anyway, I was last up the hill. I refused to get into my lowest gear, 36-36. I'm saving that for Nova Scotia. 

The next climb was Lindbergh, from Wertsville Road all the way to Route 518. I glanced down at my GPS during that last bit before the intersection with Hopewell-Amwell Road. It's one of those rare hills that's worse than it looks. My GPS gave it a 9%. The uploaded ride said 7.1%. The mapped route said 6%. 

We had our rest stop at Boro Bean. There were at lest two other groups of bikers there at the time. 

After that, we headed up Louellen and Van Dyke, then doubled back to Mountain Church. "This is a stupid route," I'd said to Pete earlier, after we'd done a similar curlicue in the lowlands of Pennington. 

Our last climb was up New Road. I checked what my GPS was reporting for incline at what looked like the steepest part. I saw 9% at one point. The upload downgraded that, and the route map farther still. Clearly, if one wants to brag, one must choose the readout from one's GPS.

It's all relative, of course. Go with one metric and stay with it. It doesn't matter what the devices or maps say. As the legendary Matt Rawls used to tell* us, "You still gotta pedal!"

We had our eyes on the clouds as we crossed Route 31 into Pennington. We rounded the corner into the Twin Pines parking lot in barely a drizzle. "Perfect timing!" Glen said. That was it for rain until late last night.

Plain Jim had a no-pace, bring-your-favorite-bike ride planned for 8:00 a.m. today. I got Kermit ready. Kermit hasn't been out since late April. When my alarm went off at 6:10 this morning, I checked my email to find that the ride was canceled by rain. I called up Passo Pardoi on Rouvy; my back called it quits after 45 minutes.

It's so humid out right now that all of our windows are opaque with condensation. The heat index is 96 degrees. We're under a heat advisory and a severe thunderstorm watch. Tomorrow is supposed to be breathable again. I'll ride Miss Piggy to work.

(*He also used to say, "Laurie loves the hills!," which is as untrue today as it was back then.)

Maine 2024 Days 7 and 8: Sunrise Moose Alley Sunset Long Drive Home

Heyo!

23 June 2024

Our original plan was to leave Bar Harbor, spend the night in Rangeley, and then spend the next day and night in Portland. However, everything Jack wanted to do in Portland is closed on Tuesdays. We canceled our reservation there. We'd drive home directly from Rangeley.

There was a low bank of clouds to the east for Monday morning's sunrise.

The sun came up without showing itself until it was too high in the sky for pictures.

As we prepared to leave, I took a few final photos.

We weren't due in Rangeley until late in the afternoon, so we drove up Route 3 to the Dorr Museum at the College of the Atlantic. All the taxidermy and dioramas of local wildlife, including puffins, are made by CoA students.

Why were we going to Rangeley (closer to New Hampshire and Canada than to Bar Harbor)? We were meeting a friend from Portland there. He had promised us moose.

The drive took 3.5 hours, half of which was down winding, narrow roads where our cell reception went in and out. At one point we crossed the Appalachian Trail.

We arrived at the Rangeley Inn (click the link for some worthy photos) at 4:30, as planned. Reid was already there, lounging in a high-backed leather chair in the vast lobby, next to a rearing black bear and under the head of a stuffed moose. He'd already secured our rooms. We were given real keys, on those giant plastic diamond keychains and all. Our rooms had decks that overlooked Haley Pond.

If Portland is the City that Sleeps In, Rangely is the Town that Sleeps Early. The receptionist informed us that the grocery store up the road would close at 6:00, and the bar across the street at 9:00. Aside from those two establishments, there wasn't much else in Rangeley. People come here to play on the water and hike.

Reid stated that we would have to have a post-moose celebration. Our drive would take us past the bar's closing time, so we'd need to get in some supplies now. We drove up to the grocery store, where I felt like a college student again, roaming the aisles, filling the cart with junk food. I even found some sour beer (not Allagash, but I'd take what I could get at this point), while Jack scrutinized the wine section. Reid, meanwhile, had his eyes on the salty snacks.

We had dinner at the tavern in the inn. When my Sundial phone app buzzed its one hour to sunset reminder, it was time to finish up and get rolling.

Reid drove. I sat in the passenger seat with my camera ready. Jack sat in the back. We went north on Route 16, locally known as "Moose Alley." It's barely a 2-lane road with no shoulder. It's backcountry, with forests and fields, and mountains in the distance. My job was to scan the right-hand side of the road.

We were only a few minutes out of town. None of us remembers who saw it first.

"Straight ahead on the left!" 

Reid slowed. I zoomed in through the windshield.

We rolled up slowly, aided by the silent electric engine of Reid's Prius.

The setting sun lit up the animal's side.

The moose, a young male, cantered along the edge of the woods in the same direction we were going. Reid rolled down his window so I could get some clean photos. I zoomed way in.

I had a bunch of other pictures, but they were blurry. I deleted them from the camera as they happened. I sort of wish I hadn't.

The moose eventually lost interest in us and ambled back into the woods. We crept along, looking for more.

Several times, I asked Reid to stop so I could get out and take some pictures of the sunset.

When it started to get dark, we turned around. Reid handed me a flashlight that I could shine into the woods, should another moose be lurking. We didn't see any more.

Reid's hotel room had more chairs on its deck, so we went up there for the celebration. Seeing some spiders on the railings, I ran and got my good camera, but the lantern was blinding Jack and Reid, so I only snapped a few photos of a tetragnathid and a boreal combfoot.

Only later did we realize we were being nibbled away by no-see-ums. 

We made plans for the next morning. Breakfast at 8:30 at the Inn, then head out to De Wolfe & Wood, the antiquarian booksellers in Alfred, outside of Portland. From there, Jack and I would go back to New Jersey.

I wasn't planning to take pictures of the sunrise. Our room faced northeast. The light woke me, so I got up and snapped a few shots before going back to sleep.

Before we checked out, I took a short walk along the edge of the pond.

Reid had some errands to run before meeting up in Alfred. I wanted to get to the Allagash brewery on the northwestern edge of Portland. I also wanted to stop at Len Libby, home of the life-size chocolate moose, in Scarborough, because they have the best chocolate-covered blueberries and pretzels, and they don't ship in the summer for obvious reasons. I wanted to lay in a supply of Coolship sour beer and chocolate-covered stuff to last until winter.

We didn't leave Rangeley until 10:30 a.m., taking the same desolate road out that we took in. I'd noticed an overlook the day before, so I stopped for a minute to get some pictures of Rangeley Lake.

While we were driving, Jack figured out that we wouldn't be able to get to Allagash and Len Libby before our planned 2:00 rendevous at De Wolfe & Wood, and that the bookshop would close at 3:00. I contemplated dropping Jack at the bookstore, driving the half hour back to Scarborough myself, stocking up, and driving the half hour back. But that would mean yet another hour in the car on an already too-long day. So we decided to do Allagash quickly, then Alfred, then double back to Scarborough, which would only add 20 minutes to our drive home.

We'd never been to the brewery before. It was on Industrial Drive next to two other local breweries. Maine has several thousand indie breweries. We once heard 2500 for the 2.5 million people in the state. Not a bad ratio if you like beer.

I only like sour beer, and I only really like what Allagash makes. Even that is qualified: What I want is Coolship Red. Imagine Sour Patch Kids without the sugar and beer taste. Shut up. I know I have issues.

Not seeing any Coolship on the shelves, I asked the fellow behind the counter. He summoned a colleague who said there were a few cases down in storage. As that site was considered separate, I had to hand her my credit card before she disappeared. 

She came back with 2 cases (12 bottles) of Coolship Red, one each from different years. Unlike other sorts of beer, this stuff is deliberately aged. She had me taste a couple of other sours in stock. I liked one of them enough to snag three bottles, plus a couple of t-shirts (one of which was drawn by the fellow behind the counter) because I was in a good mood.

Now we had to dash over to Alfred. While Jack and Reid were inside, I walked across the street to the general store. 

Alfred is, as far as I can tell, De Wolfe & Wood, a restaurant next door, and the general store. Think Sergeantsville, NJ, but without the blinking light and fewer buildings.

I knew from previous visits that I could buy giant sandwiches we could eat on the road. They'd be big enough for lunch and dinner. We wouldn't have to stop.

Jack came away much heavier in books and much lighter in the wallet. We said our goodbyes and pushed off for Scarborough. Candy shopping was a surgical strike. We were on the road before 4:00.

We pulled into our driveway at 10:30 p.m., a 12-hour trip all told. It took me a while to unload the car of beer, candy, books, luggage, hiking boots, camera bag, bike bag, and, last of all Janice, whose tires were still coated in dust from the Acadia National Park carriage roads.